Inversion
by Commander Copyright
Summary: The Normandy is destroyed in a surprise attack, and Commander John Shepard killed.  But this wasn't what went wrong.  In a horrific turn of events, the Commander's body is recovered by the wrong party.  As a consequence, everything changes.
1. N7 Log 1: Nightmare

Inversion

Nightmare

***N7***

Dying wasn't nearly as bad as John Shepard – commander of the very-recently destroyed SSV Normandy – thought it would be. At least, once his brain was so starved for oxygen that he could no longer feel the burning in his lungs or the complete, abject, animal terror that consumed him. After that, he didn't think much of anything else.

Still, it was something of a surprise when something resembling consciousness slowly returned. This wasn't heaven, it was way too dark and indistinct for that. He was equally certain it wasn't hell, since it wasn't red and covered in flame. Limbo, maybe? Considering some of the difficult decisions he had been forced to make in the course of his career, it wouldn't be that much of a stretch.

When nothing appeared to give an explanation as to what was going on, John tried to move, to explore whatever environment he was in, but nothing happened. It took him a moment to realize that he didn't have a body. Or, at least, he couldn't feel his body. He seemed to be nothing but disembodied thought.

_Is this what being dead feels like?_

He hoped not. Sharing Ash's beliefs, he had always assumed that there was _something_ after death. That little corner of his mind that nagged at him, saying 'what if there isn't?,' seemed to suggest that after he died, that was it. He was just… gone. The old adage 'I think, therefore I am' came to mind. He was thinking about this, therefore he must exist. But if he wasn't dead, then what was going on?

**SHEPARD.**

If John still had a body, he would have jerked back in shock. As it was, he was only capable of feeling a sharp stab of surprise. The name had come from nowhere, in a tone that suggested contempt, and insufferable smugness. Whoever was speaking probably had a planet-sized chip on their shoulder, if history was any indication.

**YOUR ATTEMPTS TO CATEGORIZE US BY PRIOR EXPERIENCE IS AMUSING.**

Suddenly, Shepard found himself able to speak, to respond, even though he still didn't seem to have a mouth, tongue, throat or pair of lungs to do it with.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded of the inky blackness. The response came quickly.

**WE ARE YOUR GENETIC DESTINY. WE BRING PERFECTION THROUGH DESTRUCTION. WE IMPOSE ORDER.**

**I AM HARBINGER.**

"A Reaper" Shepard spat. The darkness seemed to taunt him.

**A SUPERSTITIOUS TITLE GIVEN TO US BY YOUR PREDECESSORS. IT IS OF NO CONSEQUENCE. THERE IS NO WORD IN ANY VOCABULARY SUFFICIENT TO ENCOMPASS US.**

Shepard snorted, or rather, tried to. "If that were the case, we wouldn't have been able to defeat Sovereign, but your pal is scattered all over the Citadel now, isn't he?"

**THE FAILURE OF ONE IS INCONSEQUENTIAL. WE CANNOT BE STOPPED.**

"And yet I've already stopped you" Shepard countered.

**AND NOW YOU ARE WITHIN OUR GRASP.**

Dread began to seep into his mind. The memories of Saren and Benezia, indoctrinated tools, returned. He'd rather die than end up like them. But then, wasn't he already dead?

**ORGANIC MATTER IS EASILY MANIPULATED. WE ACQUIRED YOUR RESIDUE, AND WE WILL USE IT.**

"What use am I to you dead?" he shot at the machine. "I saw what your friend did to Saren after I killed him, but I doubt that you'd go to all this trouble to get a burned-up husk."

**YOU WILL BE THE FIRST.**

"First of what?" Shepard questioned, hostility underlying every word.

**YOU WILL BECOME ONE OF US.**

"I will not serve you" he ground out. "Not ever. I'll fight you, I'll fight you to the heat death of the universe if I have to, but I will never betray the people I swore to protect."

**DEFIANCE IS POINTLESS. YOU HAVE NO MEANS TO RESIST.**

Forgetting momentarily that he didn't have a body to so with, Shepard snarled at the machine. "Screw. You." For a moment, he could've sworn the Reaper _laughed_ at him. It was not a good feeling.

**YOU ARE VIABLE, SHEPARD. PREPARE YOURSELF FOR ASCENSION.**

Nothing changed, but Shepard instantly understood that the conversation was finished. Whatever the Reapers planned to do to him, they would be doing soon, unless he could find a way to escape. John tried to move an arm or leg, but nothing responded. So much for that plan. What the hell did they want with him, anyway? If he was dead – which both memory and Harbinger seemed to suggest – then why would they bother retrieving him? Even if it was possible to completely revive him – which he had to admit, given his circumstances, was a distinct possibility – why would they expend so many resources to do so? What could they hope to gain?

Whatever their intention, John didn't think that 'ascension' meant sitting cross-legged in a rock garden meditating on plants.

That was when the pain started. Despite not having a physical body to feel, a wave of fire swept over him, burning him alive, searing his very soul.

Commander John Shepard screamed.

***N7***

John drifted in and out of consciousness. For once, he was grateful for the periods of respite. During some of the N7 training simulations, and once during an actual mission, he had been kept drugged in an attempt to keep him incapacitated. The former experience had taught him how to survive the latter. This was nothing like that, there were no muddied thoughts, no murky blurs or vague sounds at the edge of hearing. There was nothing but agony. That is, until he heard the screams.

First they came singly, the terrified wails of men, women and children. They seemed to be human, if such sounds could even be considered human. They tore at him, urging him to struggle harder than before, determined to help them. Surely, he had not been gifted with all his strength and skill only to be powerless now? He _had_ to fight, he had to help them. Then more came, and more, and still more, until he was drowning in a tidal wave of terror and helplessness.

He eventually slipped into a state that was half-dream, half-terrified reality. The constant screams still tortured him, but at least he wasn't _feeling_ anything, either physically or emotionally. Random images flashed before him; like the Prothean beacon, only worse, because this time he could actually understand what he saw. Bits and pieces of people's lives, human lives. Real and present, not a garbled collection of ancient knowledge. Flickers; children playing in a park, adults conversing easily in a bar. Swarms of massive insects, fear and pain.

This continued for what seemed a lifetime. For all John knew, it was. He was pretty sure that he had gone insane for some of that time. After another few eternities, Shepard vaguely noticed that the screaming had diminished significantly. In fact, the pain too seemed to be lessening. Cautiously, he allowed himself to think clearly for the first time in who-knew how long.

After all this time, he hadn't been able to figure out what the Reapers were doing to him. Only that they were also doing it to seemingly thousands of others too. If what he had been seeing and feeling was true, those others were even worse off than he was.

That was when he suddenly realized that he was feeling something besides the burning. Sensation was slowly starting to trickle in, like recovering from a local anesthetic, but without the tingling. Experimentally, he tried to see if he could move anything. If the Reapers had been trying to rebuild him – as unlikely as it seemed – so he could work for them, then he might have a chance. If he could move, he could fight.

**YOUR STRUGGLE IS POINTLESS, SHEPARD.**

He tensed. Harbinger was back.

**YOU ARE NEARLY READY.**

"What have you done to me?" Shepard demanded.

**WE HAVE BROUGHT YOUR SPECIES TO ITS APEX. YOU HAVE PROVED YOURSELF.**

"What the hell are you talking about!" he yelled. For a moment, there was silence, then a flood of awareness and information jammed its way into his mind. Instinctively, he tried to block out the foreign sensation, but it slammed through his feeble defenses like a freight train. He felt _everything_, and in a single moment of horrified comprehension, he realized what was going on. He could feel his body now, except that it wasn't _his_ body.

A normal human is not aware of their internal functions, but Shepard was keenly aware of everything that was going on in and around him. Which was how he knew that instead of skin, he had a superhardened crystalline-structure bio-mechanical armor shell. Instead of intestines for processing food, he was fueled by a combination fusion/anti-matter reactor. Instead of a heart, he had a massive element zero core. The tiny figures scurrying around his form were human-sized, and he himself was comparable in size to an Alliance cruiser.

_God help me, I'm a Reaper._

***N7***

_Author's Notes: As you may have figured out, this story assumes that the Collectors succeed in acquiring Commander Shepard's body after the Normandy is destroyed at the beginning of Mass Effect 2. I'm taking one of the more popular theories as to what the Reapers want with Shepard and running with it. _

_I really don't know where this is gonna end. In all probability, it will end when I hit writer's block. If you added all the fictional material I've written into one volume, it might make a nice-sized novel. But I have to date finished exactly Zero stories._

_PS: It's fun to write a character that speaks only i-_**ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL.**


	2. N7 Log 2: Reality

Reality

***N7***

This was, without a doubt, the worst day in John Shepard's life. That included the destruction of the Normandy and his own death. Even the seeming eternity of torture he had just endured seemed trivial compared to the fact that he was now a massive, hybrid organic/synthetic machine, built for the sole purpose of assisting in the genocide of all organic life.

Now that he was partially connected to his new 'body,' John had a much better understanding of what was going on. His original body, the one that had been killed by vacuum exposure, had been broken down to what could best be described as its genetic building blocks, then used in the structure of the Proto-Reaper he was encased in. No, not encased in, _was._ The body itself was shaped like a massive human skeleton. For what reason that was, he didn't know.

His consciousness had been transferred along with genetic material, and the process had been repeated with thousands of others. He could feel them, people, humans like him, melted down and used to create this _monstrosity_. Their collective intellect hovered at the edge of his consciousness, ready for him to put it to use. The phrase Sovereign had said to him so long ago came back. _We are each a nation._

The words had been more fitting, and more literal, than John had known.

He was still incomplete, that much was certain. The chamber he was being built in could easily house a few dreadnaughts. However, it seemed that they were done with pumping liquefied people into the frame of the Reaper-shell. Now the Reaper's slaves were filling the interior spaces with more and more tech, adding armor plate, and a myriad assortment of other tasks John could barely keep track of.

The slaves themselves were something of a mystery. He suspected that they were the ones that had destroyed the Normandy, but he had no means of verifying that theory short of asking Harbinger. They weren't merely indoctrinated, he was sure. He didn't recognize the species, which made him suspect that they were like the keepers – the insect-like creatures that maintained the Citadel – either engineered from scratch to serve the Reapers, or modified from an older species. The creatures currently installing a fantastically advanced communication device could potentially have predated the Protheans.

Days passed. John watched as his new body neared completion. No longer resembling a skeleton, he rather suspected that he would look like a security mech, had he been shrunk down to a more manageable size. He was still nowhere near the size of an actual Reaper; which he wasn't sure was good or bad.

As he continued to take shape, one disquieting thought continued to plague him: Why were the Reapers taking no action to indoctrinate him? John was fairly confident that they hadn't yet tried, since he didn't feel any overwhelming urge to wipe out all life in the galaxy as of yet. But they wouldn't just hand him control over this much power without implementing safeguards, they weren't that stupid. At least, he assumed they weren't. When he did try, would he have the capability to resist? Benezia and Saren had both been able to throw off the effects of indoctrination, for a short time. He could only hope he could do the same.

***N7***

**SHEPARD.**

Harbinger was back. Fury like Shepard had never experienced rose up in him at sound. "Why are you doing this?" he ground out, hatred infusing every word.

**YOU YET FAIL TO COMPREHEND. YOU WILL LEARN.**

"Like hell I will!" Shepard yelled. Silence followed for a few moments, then Harbinger spoke again.

**THE PHYSICAL TRANSFORMATION IS COMPLETE. BUT YOUR ASCENSION IS YET UNFINISHED.**

Shepard did not find that at all reassuring.

**YOU WILL UNDERSTAND, SHEPARD. COMPLETE THE PROCESS.**

That was when Shepard realized that things were about to get worse.

***N7***

The Reaper form that they had made John into was in the general shape of a human, but was almost the size of an Alliance cruiser. That was big, but nowhere near the size of Sovereign. If he to make a guess, what he had seen of Sovereign was a combat shell for a much smaller 'core' reaper, which was in the form of whatever species had originally created the Reapers. He could make that guess, because that was precisely what they were doing now.

He wasn't sure if the shell they were installing him in now was created the same way he was, or if it was built in a more conventional manner. He assumed it was the latter. Regardless, it was of nearly identical proportions to the Reaper John had helped destroy so long ago. He had a sneaking suspicion that the Reapers were attempting to maintain some sort of status quo.

As the shell was sealed around him and connections were made, he began to receive more and more sensory input. All the information streaming in from the 'core' had been almost overwhelming by itself. The combat shell was far larger, but wasn't nearly as complex. It was almost like putting on a suit of armor, only far more disturbing.

John had lost track of time a long while ago, but he was pretty sure that the process of sealing his 'core' inside of the shell wasn't taking nearly as long as the previous steps. By his estimate, he would be a fully-functioning space squid in a few days.

What, exactly, had he done to deserve this?

Then his thought processes came to an abrupt halt. Could they be that idiotic? Were they really going to hand him control of the most powerful class of warship in the galaxy, and not bother to ensure his loyalty? What was their game? He still didn't think they'd attempted indoctrination on him. But then, he'd think that if they were trying it, wouldn't he?

There were many questions, and no answers for the foreseeable future.

***N7***

**SHEPARD.**

He'd wondered when Harbinger would be back. The Reaper's alien slaves had finished sealing him inside the combat shell. For the last few hours, he'd been keeping busy by familiarizing himself with the its function. He was only able to control the most basic systems, but he was growing confident that he wouldn't accidentally blow himself up.

**IT IS COMPLETE. YOUR SPECIES WILL BE THE FIRST TO ASCEND FOR HUNDREDS OF CYCLES.**

"Don't count on it" Shepard retorted.

**YOUR RESISTANCE IS POINTLESS. EMBRACE PERFECTION.**

Silence. And then, with the suddenness of a light bulb coming to life, the barriers dropped. For a brief moment, Shepard knew that he had complete control over the Reaper he had been encased in – then the collective consciousness of every other human who had been melted down to create the reaper-core slammed into his mind.

For the second time since this nightmare began, Shepard screamed.

***N7***

_Author's Notes: Sorry about the delay in posting. I've been writing this a little at a time, much slower than I should have been._

_I'm taking a couple of liberties here. EDI says near the conclusion of ME2 that completing the reaper-core would take millions of people, at least. I'm running under the assumption that it doesn't take quite that many. Also, the thing about the human-reaper being the core for a larger one I believe has been mentioned by the developers before. I'm not sure where, but it makes sense, so I'm using it._

_PLEASE read & review, or Harbinger wi – _**ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL.**


	3. N7 Log 3: Resolution

Resolution

***N7***

Ever since he had joined the Alliance military, John had always stayed in control. On a battlefield, he always had his weapon, his squadmates, and the enemy. He fired the first, directed the second, and used both to affect the third. Even in this half-life he had been reduced to, he had always retained control of his own mind. He wasn't entirely certain that was the case anymore.

It wasn't painful, not exactly. But it felt as though his consciousness was being dragged in a thousand different directions at once. He couldn't focus; he felt as though at any moment his mind might splinter and become part of the writhing mass of souls surrounding him.

After a few moments – hours? – of this, he realized that they were trying to do just that.

He snarled at the shifting darkness. If there was one thing John Shepard never did, it was give up without a fight.

***N7***

The battle – if it could be called that – did not seem to take long. This was the first time since this nightmare began that he had an enemy to fight against. Before, he had been helpless against a torrent of suffering that had nearly driven him mad. Now, with an opponent to strive against, he found that he was almost _happy_ for the challenge.

It was a clash of wills, his own against the collection of beings that had been destroyed to form the Reaper he was now encased in. Perhaps it had something to do with being the one given control of the construct, or perhaps it was because he was the only one who still possessed free will, but he was capable of resisting – indeed, _overpowering_ his much larger adversary.

They were no longer human, of that he was certain. Combined, they seemed to be an enormous font of processing power, but they seemed to be almost directionless. He decided to call them the Collection. It seemed appropriate somehow, though he didn't really understand why.

As he wrested power away from the Collection, subduing and containing pieces of it, he found himself gaining control of various parts of the Reaper he had become. That was how he measured his progress. After a time, he had control of a third, then half, three-quarters…

The Collection seemed to be becoming desperate, fighting with more urgency, insofar as an almost nonsentient mass of consciousness could be urgent. But desperation made for poor fighting capability, and with one final effort, Shepard forced the last remnants of the Collection into confinement within the core of the Reaper. No sooner had he done this, than Harbinger reappeared.

**SHEPARD.**

It was becoming somewhat predictable, to be honest.

**YOUR WILL IS IMPRESSIVE. WE DID NOT EXPECT YOU TO SUCCEED.**

"That so?" Shepard shot back sarcastically.

**YOUR EFFORTS ARE COUNTER-PRODUCTIVE. YOU WILL UNDERSTAND.**

"Understand what?" Shepard asked, guardedly.

**OUR REASONS. YOU WILL ASSIST US, AND YOU WILL BECOME US.**

So, the Reapers expected him to up and join them the second he understood the reasoning behind their xenocide? They expected him to join them _willingly?_ Without even trying to indoctrinate him?

He took it back; they really were that idiotic.

"Harbinger" Shepard said, defiance infusing his words. "I've said it before, I'll say it again: Screw. You."

With those parting words, Shepard severed the link connecting him – finding out that he _had_ that capability in the first place – and fired the Reaper's main cannon.

Against any warship John knew of, the weapon would be very, very destructive. But he was inside a gargantuan structure – a space station, most probably – and in these confined spaces, with no kinetic barriers or armor to diminish it, it was absolutely devastating.

Shrapnel and flaming debris filled the chamber, bouncing harmlessly off his hull. The Reapers' slaves, confused, stood rooted in place before being tossed about like children's toys. The mass-accelerated round, carrying the energy of a dozen nuclear warheads, ripped through the facility's structure and out through its armored exterior. John's guess about it being a space station was confirmed when the atmosphere suddenly started rushing out through the hole he had just made.

He fired again, and the station's structure began to collapse. Memories came to him, of Sovereign firing energy weapons of incredible power upon the Alliance fleet. He knew what form of armament they were now. All six of his 'arms' were mounted with one of these cannons, and all of them were charged.

He fired.

The station crumbled. The entire thing was ablaze, but would not be for long as fires were extinguished by lack of oxygen. The reactor was tearing itself apart, and bringing the remainder of the station with it. When it did, John realized that it would explode with enough force to destroy everything for several hundred kilometers in every direction. Almost out of instinct, he threw up his kinetic barriers. This proved to be just in time, as the station gave way with one final, colossal detonation.

The shields flared, strained, and held. The station's remains flew off everywhere, the storm of head energy faded, and John was free of the cage.

Which, predictably, presented a whole new problem.

His sensors, now unhindered by millions of tons of metal and ceramic, detected something rather troubling. Many things that were rather troubling. First was the presence of a black hole a worryingly close distance nearby, and the husks of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of lifeless ships that seemed to be right on top of him.

The fading echoes of a mass effect field, doubtlessly generated by the station, seemed to have been intended to keep the crushing gravity and heat of the environment from destroying everything. He suddenly realized where he must be, which made it imperative that he get out as soon as possible.

As if in response to that thought, he detected a mass effect distortion roughly a thousand kilometers distant, a mass relay. Yet even now, the gargantuan transportation device seemed to be flexing under the pressure of the incredible gravity.

Controlling the Reaper body seemed to be second nature to him now, and with a terrific jolt, the drive came to life. The Normandy's Tantalus drive core magnified a hundredfold, it used mass effect fields to propel his massive bulk along without need for propellants. Which made no difference to Shepard, not now, when he was suddenly in the race of his life.

His barriers were failing, gradually but steadily. Without the station's reactor keeping the titanic forces of the galactic core at bay, they were overwhelming. The mass relay was buckling under the force. Shepard instinctively put all his remaining power into the drive core. The burst of speed was incredible, but under these circumstances, it didn't seem nearly enough.

His shields were failing, the relay was beginning to flicker, beginning to die. His mind went back to the Conduit on Ilos, to the race in the Mako, to reach the relay before it failed. His only comfort was that if he didn't make it this time, he was the only one who would die because of it.

The shields fell. Immediately, the gravity set to work on his internal structures, which started to flex under the strain. Shepard braced himself – then a burst of energy shot out from the relay, grabbed hold of him, and shot him through a reality-warping tunnel of light. An instant later, he came out, and he was surrounded by normal space again, the stars greeting him as they always had. He had made it.

_Great. What the hell do I do now?_

***N7***

_Author's Notes: Sorry if this is a little hectic. It's late, and I wrote this all in a rush. To summarize, Shepard has gained complete control over his Reaper body, and has used it to destroy the Collector base. Since the base was the only thing keeping that region of the galactic core from being obliterated, he had to move _fast_ to avoid destruction. _

_That thing about the Reaper's drive being a beefed-up Normandy engine is what I guess the Reapers use, since we don't see any visible thrusters on Sovereign. Oddly enough, the Normandy looks as though it uses its normal thrusters, even when it's supposed to be in stealth mode._

_Anyways, please read & review. Seriously. FF writers like me only get paid in warm, fuzzy feelings we get when we get reviewed. Of course, we can also get utterly crushed when the flame-mails start pouring in, but that's one of the hazards of posting. Just ask Harbinger, h – _**ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL.**


	4. N7 Log 4: Indecision

_A/N: Kudos to Inverness, S058, redskin122004, HelzCrusader and battlebat35 for reviewing! Extra-special Kudos to RipTow for being the first reviewer! And now, back to _Inversion.

Indecision

***N7***

Now that John was out of his own personal spot of hell, and in open space for the first time in God-knew how long, he found that he had no idea what to do next.

_Great. What do I do now?_

_What the _Hell_ do I do now?_

Adding an expletive to the question didn't help him resolve it.

As long as he was unsure of what path he should take, he decided, he might as well take stock of his current situation. Reaching out with his sensors, he quickly found that he was in a star system. The star in question was about a third the size of Sol, and orbited by – as best as he could tell – three planets.

Three distinct energy signatures caught his attention. The first was the mass relay he had just exited, which, he just noticed, was red rather than blue. The second was another relay of more normal coloration. The third was a space station, larger than the base he had just demolished, almost the size of the Citadel. After a few moments, recognition kicked in. It was Omega.

John suddenly decided that this was _not_ where he wanted to be at present, never mind that there was nothing on Omega that had the capability to harm him in any way. He set a course for the system's mass relay. Figuring that he had a few minutes before he reached the relay, a few possibilities flittered through his mind. The Citadel? Ridiculous, he'd be blown out of space the instant he showed himself. Contact Anderson? Possible, but what were the odds that his old friend would believe him?

_Slim to none_ he answered himself grimly.

***N7***

"There are serious political implications here, Councilor." Udina was prattling on, as usual. Still, Councilor David Anderson forced himself to pay attention. His assistant, the former human ambassador to the Citadel may have been a self-absorbed snob, and an ass, but he knew how to navigate political circles with a deftness that sometimes managed to impress even Anderson himself. And since David found himself in the most political job open to mankind, he paid attention.

It was some trade agreement between the Systems Alliance and the Turian Hierarchy that was under fire because of a breach in the rules laid down in the treaty by some corporation or another. Thoroughly incomprehensible, and compared to virtually every other crises going on in the galaxy, entirely trivial.

There were times that, if he wasn't hesitant to speak ill of the dead, he would've cursed Shepard for putting him in this position.

At length, Anderson began to lose patience, and curtly asked Udina what exactly needed to be done to remedy the situation. The Ambassador looked faintly surprised, and complied with the Councilor's request.

A few minutes later, Anderson was alone in his office. He leaned back in his chair, then lifted a hand to rub his temples tiredly. What he wouldn't give for a decent vacation. A vacation that wouldn't be haunted by imaginings of galactic destruction. The weight of an entire civilization was on his shoulders, and he wasn't entirely sure he was up to the challenge. He was trained for combat, not political bullshit.

His musings were interrupted by a beeping from his console. He lowered his hand and scanned the missive quickly. It was a request for a priority comm. link from Admiral Hackett, Fifth Fleet HQ. Anderson's fatigue vanished instantly. If Steven Hackett had requested a priority link, this had to be urgent. He confirmed the request, and Hackett's grizzled face appeared on the screen.

"Admiral, what's wrong? You look tense" Anderson initiated without preamble. It was the truth, Hackett's jaw was clenched, mouth in a grim line.

"Councilor, one of our surveillance posts near Omega picked up something emerging from the Omega 4 relay just a few minutes ago."

Anderson frowned. "A Collector ship? We haven't seen any activity from the region for quite some time."

Hackett shook his head minutely. "Not exactly. I'm sending you the enhanced video log. You need to see this."

Hackett's image shifted to the side, and another video feed appeared in its place. Poor quality, which indicated the great distance from which it must have been taken, it showed the Omega 4 relay – easily recognizable due to its distinctive red hue – with its drive arms spinning rapidly. Anderson's eyes narrowed. The speed they were traveling must mean that a great amount of mass was being sent along the relay, either a ship of dreadnaught class or larger, or a fleet of smaller ones.

Then a Reaper popped into existence alongside the relay.

Anderson inhaled sharply. It was identical to Sovereign, the Reaper that Shepard and the Fifth fleet had destroyed two years ago. Instantly, the worst possibilities came to mind. "Have any more arrived?" he asked tightly. Hackett shook his head again.

"None so far. Looks like it's just the one. It entered the system's mass relay just moments ago. No telling where it's gone." He stopped a moment to let this sink in. "I'm going to mobilize the Fifth. If we get a hint as to its whereabouts…"

Anderson nodded. "Understood. I'll alert the rest of the Council. They'll probably stick their heads in the sand, as usual. But I have to try."

Admiral Hackett nodded in return. "Good luck."

***N7***

John had made several blind trips through mass relays, unable to recognize a single one of the systems he had been transported to, before he decided that there had to be a better way. As if in answer to his situation (which, he realized, it probably was) a database of all the settled systems in the galaxy that the Reapers' slaves had been aware of presented itself to him. If he still had his organic body, he would have promptly struck his head against the nearest wall.

With this guide at his disposal, he was capable of making much more informed decisions about where to go next. Unfortunately, he still had no idea how to proceed on that score.

In the way of men caught in extraordinary circumstances, the reality of what had just happened occurred to him.

He was a Reaper.

_He_ was a God-dammed _Reaper_.

Intellectually, he had known this the whole time, but the finality of that fact struck him like a hammer blow. For a fleeting instant, he contemplated setting a course straight for the nearest star. The thought of just giving up, and escaping the whole horrific state of affairs had some appeal. Then the instant faded.

He wasn't giving up, not just yet. He had to make the Reapers pay for what they'd done, he had to wipe them out in their entirety. Then, maybe, he'd do something about his own regrettable circumstances.

But that just brought him back to his original problem: What was he supposed to do now?

A few things were certain. First, there was very little he could do on his own. He had no idea how the Reapers intended to invade, and even if he did, he doubted that he could do much to stymie the advance on his own. Ergo, he needed allies. But in order to gain allies, he needed some way to interact with them, some way to communicate with them face-to-face. An image of Saren popped into his mind, and he realized that what he needed was an intermediary. Someone to speak on his behalf.

Saren. John immediately searched his systems for whatever device emitted the indoctrination field. It wasn't as easy as he thought it would be. It took him almost an hour, but he eventually figured that it wasn't any one device in particular, but was directly connected to the Collection, the mass of consciousness that had once been thousands of humans, sacrificed to create the Reaper-shell. Ultimately, this meant that he couldn't access the indoctrination field, it was totally inactive, at least as long as the Collection remained subdued. This was something of a comfort, at least he wouldn't deprive anyone of free will by accident.

But who would that 'anyone' be? He needed someone he could trust. But then, was there anyone he could trust anymore? Would they be capable of trusting _him?_

There was only one way to find out.

In a moment, he had decided who it was he wanted to find, and not just because she might be willing to help him. But first, he needed to find out where she was, which would more than likely be more complicated than simply logging onto the extranet.

All the same, he couldn't help feeling trepidation. After everything they had gone through together, everything they had talked about, and that one night before Ilos… he couldn't help feeling that Ashley Williams would not be happy to find out that he was a Reaper now. No, she might very well try to kill him. Given her talents, and her dogged persistence, she might very well succeed.

_So what else is new?_ He thought to himself, with a hint of grim humor.

***N7***

_Author's Notes: battlebat35 gave me a couple of ideas when reviewing my last chapter. I have a much better grasp of where this is heading than I did when I started._

As always, R&R. Harbinger is coming, and I'll need lots of warm, fuzzy feelings to keep from bein – **ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL.**


	5. N7 Log 5: Transaction

Transaction

***N7***

John had figured out the date a little while ago, and had been mildly surprised to find that it had been almost two years since the Normandy was destroyed. He wasn't sure if that was because he had thought it wouldn't be nearly that long, or because he thought it had been longer than that. Either way, two years was a long time. He didn't think that getting hold of Ashley – or any of his old team, for that matter – would be as easy as sending them a message over the extranet. He probably wouldn't even be able to find out what had happened to them, if he relied on public information.

At a loss, John decided to take a trip through 'his' database, the one that contained the star map he was now using to navigate the relay network. After a few minutes, it became clear that the database was far larger than he had initially expected, was in fact, a veritable goldmine of information. It contained a great deal of knowledge about galactic civilization as a whole – mostly stuff he could've accessed via the 'net – but it also contained much information about the species that had constructed his Reaper body in the first place. The knowledge that the Reaper slaves were the mythical Collectors was unexpected. The revelation that they were Protheans, modified and repurposed to serve the Reapers was something of a shock.

That gave him an idea.

He searched the database quickly for references to the Shadow Broker. It didn't take long, it seemed that the Broker was the one that found John's body in the first place, and handed it over to the Collectors. Somewhat disquieted, John examined the file in more detail. It seemed as though an asari and a drell – the latter of which was a renegade Shadow Broker agent – had attempted to retake his body. With a jolt, he realized that the asari was Liara T'soni, one of his former team-mates. Suddenly apprehensive, he studied the report further, and was relieved to find that Liara had escaped, though the drell had not.

Reading that little snippet almost put him off the plan now forming in the recesses of his mind. Almost. Included in the database's intel on the Shadow Broker was the comm. frequency and address for contact.

He had crossed paths with the Broker's organization twice before. Barla Von, a volus living on the Citadel who was publicly a financial advisor was somewhat less publicly one of the Broker's agents. He had given Shepard some information that had led him to recruit Urdnot Wrex. Later, one of the Shadow Broker's agents had contacted him directly, interested in obtaining information Shepard had acquired from a raid on a Cerberus outpost. Needless to say, Shepard had refused. The agent in question had warned him that the Broker would remember that slight the next time he, Shepard, needed information.

Luckily, it wasn't under his own name that he would be contacting the Broker.

***N7***

"You are not a Collector."

The voice was carefully modulated to be as expressionless as possible, but Shepard couldn't help thinking that there was a slight suggestion of surprise in that smooth voice.

"No, I'm not. But then, you aren't the Shadow Broker either." The recordings in his database of the interactions between the Shadow Broker and Harbinger made that clear.

"True enough. I assume you have proposal to make, or you wouldn't have gone to the trouble of finding this comm. channel."

"I have information" Shepard said bluntly. "Full schematic and analysis of Collector DNA structure. Something which, to my knowledge, no one has had the opportunity to examine in detail. Something which, I'm sure, is of interest to the Shadow Broker." The seconds ticked by, slowly. At length, the Agent responded.

"I see. And what do you want in return?"

"Intel for intel" he said shortly. "I want the current status and whereabouts on every crew member of the Alliance frigate Normandy SR1, before it was destroyed. That includes the non-Alliance personnel. Everyone who served on that ship under Commander John Shepard." The wait was longer this time. Shepard would have held his breath, if had had any to hold.

"The deal is acceptable."

Relieved that they had not demanded a higher price, Shepard spoke. "Good. I'll upload the Collector data _in good faith._ If you backslide on this deal, no further offers from me will be extended." He was counting on their interest in any further information he might possess to stave off the possibility of a double-cross.

"Please," the Agent said, his voice sounding amused. "If we regularly reneged on our promises, we wouldn't get very many clients, would we?"

With that, Shepard dumped the Collector data into the channel, and waited. A few seconds later, a data packet returned. He checked briefly to make sure that it contained the intel he needed. In a nanosecond, he had determined that it did, and contrary to his expectations, carried no viruses.

"Package received. Good doing business with you." He terminated the link.

_Well, that went better than expected_.

***N7***

The Shadow Broker's eyes flickered over the report that had just come up on the console.

Interesting. An unknown party, communicating over the channel set up for the Collector's use, bearing hitherto un-acquired information on those reclusive beings. And wishing in return knowledge of the late Commander Shepard's crew? Curious. Information on the Collectors was valuable, but Agent Moray had approved the transaction to open up the possibility of gaining information on this unknown person or persons. A shrewd decision. The Shadow Broker would have to watch Moray carefully. He could grow into a far more useful tool. Or a threat. Steps would have to be taken to safeguard against the latter.

As for the unknown contact, the Broker decided to put a few of his agents on the task of unraveling the mystery. Disturbingly little was known of this unknown party, and wayward secrets had a tendency to wreak undue amounts of havoc in all the wrong places.

***N7***

The data packet was small, which made sense, as it only contained text documents. The files were split into two categories, labeled 'active' and 'deceased.' With some trepidation, John opened the second folder. A list of names sprung out at him.

_Jenkins, Alenko, Pressly…_

There were a dozen names that followed, and Shepard knew every one of them. He had made a conscious effort to remember every crew member who had served under him. But he had now known any of these people personally. He relaxed slightly, then had to stifle a wave a guilt. These people had been soldiers under his command, and it felt callous to be thankful that _they_ were dead when others that he had known better survived.

A little shaken, John backtracked and opened the folder containing the names and files of the surviving crew. Wrex, Tali, Garrus, Liara and Ashley were all there, as was Joker, Chakwas Adams, and a dozen or so others. He could examine the others later, he opened Ash's file first.

_Ashley Madeline Williams; Operations Chief; Systems Alliance._

_Currently on assignment to Horizon, Iera System, Shadow Sea Cluster. Officially on outreach program to improve relations between Systems Alliance and outer colonies. Has assisted in the installation of defense cannons to defend against space-based incursion._

There was more, but he stopped reading. He'd gotten what he needed to know.

He set course for the nearest relay, and checked his star charts. He could probably reach Horizon in a couple of hours if he went as fast as possible. Some rather unwanted thoughts made him check his speed, however. He wanted time to think things over first.

When he did get there, how was he going to communicate? How was he supposed to find her among a colony of five-hundred-thousand people? Even if he did manage to locate her, talk with her… how was he supposed to convince her that it was _him_, convince her to trust him again? Put in her place, John would probably open up with every gun at his disposal, rather than listen to a Reaper.

There was another problem, albeit somewhat trivial compared to the possibility of Ashley's wrath. But when he arrived at the colony, the colonists would undoubtedly send a distress signal. He wouldn't have much time before he was swarmed by a dozen cruisers. He really didn't want to have fight through his own people.

John had a few hours until he reached Horizon. He had that much time to hash out a plan. He had a feeling that this time, it wouldn't end well.

***N7***

_Author's Notes: Yes, I know that the Normandy Crash Site DLC says that twenty crewmen died on the Normandy, but given how big the ship was in the first place – and Jacob saying 'almost everyone made it out alive,' twenty seemed a bit extreme._

I know this chapter was pretty much entirely filler, but please R&R anyway. Hey, at least Shepard got to talk to someone who doesn't speak entirely i – **ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL.**


	6. N7 Log 6:  Incursion

Incursion

***N7***

Operations Chief Ashley Williams was nervous. Well, nervous was perhaps not the right word; _uneasy_ suited her better. She'd been trying to convince the techs here on Horizon to fix the damn targeting systems on the defense towers for the last four local days. Now, Lilith had finally found a programmer named Johnson who didn't mind helping 'Alliance' with her gun problems. Johnson's eyes were glued to the screen of the master control terminal, fingers gliding over the console with the same fluidity that Ash handled her rifle. Johnson said he'd found the problem, and it would only take fifteen minutes or so to correct it.

That was what worried her. In her experience, it was at times like this that shit tended to hit the fan, to use a rather outdated profanity-laden expression. She fully expected something big, ugly, bug-eyed and distinctly lacking in elbows to drop out of the sky at any moment. John had said she was a pessimist, once. She had gotten a lot more so since the Normandy was destroyed.

_Don't think about that,_ she told herself sternly, before old memories could surface.

"Ok, try it now." Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by Johnson, who spoke in the tone of a man who was almost, but not quite sure, that he had fixed the problem. Taking his place in front of the control terminal, Ashley searched for a target to test the gun towers on. Of course, she couldn't fire them without getting the colonists up in arms, but it was the targeting protocols, not the weapons themselves that were in question. Frowning at the sensor board, Ashley wondered what, exactly, she could aim at without starting a panic.

The answer presented itself in the form of one of Horizon's 'buzzers,' docile, flying insect-like critters the size of cows that never failed to intimidate first-time visitors to the planet. They were large enough in fact, for the targeting systems to gain a lock on them. Grinning faintly, Ashley locked onto the buzzer with the nearest gun, stood up, then walked outside to check Johnson's handiwork.

The defense tower was rotating slowly, keeping in time with a black speck barely visible in Horizon's sky. She couldn't tell from where she was standing if it was aimed precisely, but it was definitely an improvement. Still, these guns were meant to surprise an oncoming ship with short-range firepower and hopefully destroy it before any real fighting could begin. Any serious assault would take them out from range before they could do anything. With that in mind, the cannons were probably as ready for action as they would ever be.

Some of the uneasiness began to bleed away. The window of vulnerability had passed. The way these things went, anything nasty that would have shown up – such as whoever was abducting human colonies – would have already done so.

Then the universe decided to prove her wrong.

The first sign that anything was amiss was the shadow that suddenly fell over the immediate area. Looking up reflexively, Ashley's jaw fell open in shock. The scene was horribly familiar. She'd seen it happen once before, and her sleep had been haunted by nightmares of it for months afterwards. A Reaper, dropping out of the sky, traveling fast enough that the sound of its arrival hadn't even reached them. Just like Sovereign had on Eden Prime. Just like they were supposed to do every fifty thousand years.

_No, this can't be happening. It _can't_ be._

Surely they would have heard _something_ if the Reapers had begun their march, wouldn't they? A wave of noise suddenly slammed into her, almost loud enough to force her to cover her ears. Brought suddenly back to reality, Ashley turned around and bolted straight for the building housing the master control terminal. She burst in to find Johnson with his fingers hovering above the console, Lilith standing beside him, both of them apparently petrified with shock.

"Are those guns ready to fire?" she demanded of Johnson. He started suddenly, shaken out of his reverie.

"Uh…" he said, brain obviously in lockdown.

"_Are those guns ready to fire?" _she hissed more urgently.

Johnson suddenly shook himself vigorously.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. Knock yourself out."

Ashley nearly shoved Johnson out of the seat in order to get at the console. Mouthing a prayer under her breath, she targeted the oncoming Reaper – the guns had no trouble locking onto a target of _that_ size – and confirmed the 'fire' order.

Immediately, a series of dull _thuds_ sounded from outside as the defense towers opened up on the Reaper. There was nothing more she could do in here. Ashley sprang to her feet and rushed out the door again, pulling out her assault rifle as she went.

There were people running in every direction, confused and frightened babbling nearly drowning out the _thud thud_ of the big guns. Here and there a scream rent the air. As for the Reaper, Ashley got out just in time to see it touch down. The lower half was obscured by a pre-fab house, but it was pretty clear that it had stopped falling. A tremor ran through the ground, like a small earthquake. The defense cannons were firing round after round, every one struck true, and none of them did more than vanish just before they were about to strike the hull.

Ashley's heart sank. The most powerful weapons they had at their disposal weren't doing much more than pissing it off. And it did nothing. For the next minute, the Reaper did nothing more than _sit there_ as the towers patiently expended their munitions without effect. The Reaper made no attempt to return fire, didn't drop any ground troops and deployed no fighters. What the hell was it doing?

A memory from two years past surfaced suddenly; John trying to reason with Saren, trying to convince him that Sovereign was controlling him. _Indoctrination_. A sudden wave of panic came over her. Bullets she could deal with, how the hell was she supposed to fight an enemy that seized control of her very thoughts?

"This is all your fault, Alliance!" She started, surprised. She had almost forgotten that there were other people here at all. Delan, the mechanic, was staring at her with a wild expression on his face. "You brought those defense towers, you made us a target!"

Ashley opened her mouth automatically for a retort, but suddenly cut short when something flew overhead. She instinctively looked up. It was about the size of a skycar, roughly spherical with two short wings to either side, and a red eye that glowed malevolently at her.

At _her_, specifically.

Her rifle was up and firing before conscious thought could take hold. A screech of mechanical protest sounded from the eyeball-thingy, and it flew back a few meters.

Her rifle jammed.

Finding cover didn't even occur to her, she stood like a deer in a groundcar's headlights, staring down her rifle scope at the sphere, which stared back.

What was it waiting for?

The civilians were running, even Delan. Though she couldn't see them, Lilith and Johnson were running too. And still the sphere hovered before her, doing nothing more threatening than, well, looking threatening.

Breathing hard, she lowered her weapon. Not taking her eyes off the _thing_, her hands automatically went through the motions of clearing the jam. It watched her, silent next to the cacophony of the defense cannons continuing to fire fruitlessly at the Reaper. In a moment, her rifle was again functional. In a flash, she'd raised it again. Staring down the scope into the red orb, her finger rested uncertainly on the trigger.

Something told her that this thing could have killed her by now if it had wanted to.

Almost unwillingly, inch by inch, she lowered her weapon again. The sound of the big guns firing going unnoticed in the background. Everyone had fled, she was completely alone.

"_**Ashley."**_

She nearly jumped out of her skin. The voice was coming from the sphere; Ashley instinctively understood that it was not the sphere itself that was speaking, though.

"_**Ashley Williams."**_

It was deep, gravely, possessing an inhuman quality. Almost like Sovereign, but not quite. It was somehow very familiar.

"_**I need to speak with you."**_

"What the hell" she murmured under her breath. Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't this.

"_**I have to speak with you."**_

The voice sounded so much like Sovereign had, but the tone was completely different.

"What the hell do you want with me?" Ashley yelled up at the sphere. Her hand was gripping her rifle so tightly she felt as though she were indenting the metal.

"_**To talk to you."**_

"You said that already" she yelled back. "Got anything else to say?" There was a pause.

"_**Not really."**_

Bizarre didn't even begin to cover this. Ashley's eyes flicked up to the Reaper sitting motionless in the background. It continued to take the pounding unleashed by the defense towers without any attempt to retaliate. Of course, Sovereign had withstood the combined firepower of the entire Fifth Fleet. This Reaper probably didn't even feel it. Then the tower next to her fell silent. It must have drained its power supply. The other cannons wouldn't be far behind.

Her eyes came back to the sphere. It hovered there, slowly shifting back and forth in the wind. Waiting, it seemed. Waiting for what?

Her answer, she realized.

"Fine" she growled. "What do you want to talk about?"

"_**Not here. Elsewhere."**_

"Where?" Ashley pressed, teeth gritting together. The sphere made some strange rotating-inclining motion, like a human jerking their head to indicate something over their shoulder. Which would mean this orb was indicating the Reaper.

"No way" Ashley ground out. "No damn way. If you think I'm going anywhere near that thing-"

"_**Near **_**ME**_**, to be specific."**_

"-then you've got another thing coming."

The sphere sat there, staring at her, considering her. The second defense tower shut down. Then a third, and a fourth. One by one, they shut down, until the all the guns were silent. The Reaper stood untouched, and she could hear the yells and shouts of Horizon's citizens in the background. The Reaper might decide to harm them if she didn't cooperate. It had just proven that they had no capacity to resist it. Then again, if it had come for _her_, wouldn't cooperating just give it a clear field of fire?

Why would the Reaper want her for anything in the first place?

Shepard. It had something to do with John Shepard. Her time aboard the Normandy was the single significant thing she had ever done with her life, and John had been at the center of all of it. But John was dead. And she was left with a choice.

She could fight, but her one rifle couldn't do much more than kill this sphere – if it could even do that. She could run, but that was only a fleeting thought. And then, there was the third option: she could yield.

Her finger tightened around her rifle trigger. Years of drilling telling her that only the tiniest bit of pressure more would be needed to fire. She tensed, ready to snap her weapon upwards and attack.

The sphere continued to hover, taking no action for either attack or defense, just like the Reaper.

Jaw tensed, Ashley removed her finger from the trigger. She made a decision. She only hoped she would retain her free will long enough to regret it.

"All right" she said, gesturing with her rifle. "Lead the way."

***N7***

_Author's Notes: For anyone who didn't get 'She fully expected something big, ugly, bug-eyed and distinctly lacking in elbows to drop out of the sky at any moment,' it's a reference only the most diehard Ash-fans would recognize. Look on the main Mass Effect web page and look around a bit, or just go to the wiki, and you'll find an e-mail that Ashley sent to one of her sisters. She's telling her sister about Alliance regulations on 'fraternization,' and giving her an example situation; 'Some bug-eyed aliens are going to overrun the galaxy. They eat babies, smell bad, and don't have elbows. Nasty.'_


	7. N7 Log 7: Prelude

_A/N: Sorry about the delay, guys. I'd say that Real Life decided to rear its ugly head, but that would be a lie. Truth is, I just got lazy. Anyways, here's the (long overdue) seventh chapter of Inversion._

Prelude

***N7***

John guided the combat drone – and Ashley, by extension – along the most direct route through the colony. Leading her to him.

He'd be lying if he said that he was at all confident. Throughout his career, he'd built up a reputation for being able to defuse almost any situation through the use of calm, rational diplomacy as much as the rapid application of force. That reputation, and the skill set that it indicated, was no aid in trying to come up with a plan to tell the woman you loved that, yes, you were now a damn Reaper. And this was two years after dying pretty much right in front of her.

Yeah, this was definitely going to end well.

Only one of the colonists tried to interfere with their progress. A young man carrying a hunting rifle, who fired a few times at the drone, with little effect. He fled when the drone turned to face him. John honestly couldn't blame him.

John idly wondered whether he wanted time to speed up or slow down. Either way, he rather suspected that he was on a tight schedule. He hadn't disabled Horizon's communications before he arrived, which meant it wouldn't be long before Alliance forces arrived. Granted, they likely wouldn't be able to do much more to him than the colony's defenses had – unless they brought a dreadnaught – but he would prefer not to fight his own people.

Were they his own people anymore?

He clamped down on that thought before it could go anywhere. In all probability, it wasn't _his_ to begin with.

**SHEPARD.**

John reflexively stiffened in shock – until he realized the ludicrousness of that statement. Harbinger was back again. Suddenly panicked, he found that his Reaper nemesis had managed to tap into his communications system, and gain partial control of his systems.

A brief struggle ensued, during which the oculus outside froze in place, Ashley's shouts going unheeded. After a few moments, Shepard managed to force the elder Reaper out of his mind. Shaken, he checked his systems. At least Harbinger hadn't managed to do anything more than scare him. He allowed the drone to continue on its course.

**YOU CONTINUE TO CLING TO FEEBLE ORGANIC EMOTIONS.**

"Of course" Shepard shot back. "I wouldn't be human without them, would I?"

**YOU ARE NO LONGER HUMAN.**

"We'll see about that."

**YOU CAME TO THIS WORLD TO FIND YOUR FORMER ORGANIC COMPANION. YOU ARE NO LONGER ON THAT LEVEL OF EXISTENCE. DISCARD IT.**

"Your buddy Sovereign needed Saren to do his jobs for him" Shepard retorted. "I'm sure you can understand my need for an analog."

**THAT IS NOT YOUR TRUE INTENT.**

Forgetting that he lacked one, Shepard's jaw tightened. "I suggest shutting up now."

**RETURN TO YOUR PREVIOUS FORM IS IMPOSSIBLE. THERE IS NO PURPOSE TO THIS EXERCISE.**

"ENOUGH!" Shepard yelled, and cut the link. In that moment, the Collection surged upwards against its weakened restraints. John redoubled his defenses, and the multitude subsided.

His reactor core was running slightly hotter than normal – which, he figured, was an analog for breathing heavily. He re-checked Ash's progress. No problems, apart from the death glare she was shooting at the drone. He supposed he couldn't expect differently. He still had no idea what he was going to say. But then, that was one of his specialties, wasn't it? Making it up as he went along.

***N7***

The sphere-thingy was making some rather inconsistent movements for being – presumably – a computer. It was having a disproportionately negative effect on Ashley's emotional state. She shouldn't really care about what the sphere did, she knew – but damn-it – the Reaper pretty much compelled her to take this course of action, the least it could do was _not delay_ the inevitable any more than it had to.

But then, could it be an indication that this Reaper was damaged, or defective? She wasn't an expert on omnicidal, immortal AI constructs, but this one wasn't acting at all like she would expect it to.

The sphere stopped shaking as though it had a seizure, and without any explanation or further holdup, it continued on its way. Glaring at it, and the Reaper situated behind it, Ashley followed.

***N7***

The request for a priority comm. link from Admiral Hackett did not come as a surprise this time. After the sudden appearance of the Reaper not too long before, Anderson had been expecting this. Cutting short his current conference call, Anderson opened the link.

"Admiral, you have something?" he asked without preamble.

"More than 'something'" he replied grimly. "We've found the Reaper, it's currently on the surface of a colony out in the Terminus systems, Horizon."

"Horizon?" Anderson said, surprised.

"It's a major human settlement, just outside the boundary of Alliance jurisdiction."

"I know, that's where I sent Operations Chief Williams."

Hackett frowned. "She was on Shepard's team, wasn't she?"

"She was. She was there investigating the disappearing colonies, setting up defenses."

"Perhaps this Reaper was responsible for the earlier attacks."

"Maybe" Anderson said. "Maybe not. I assume you have ships on the way?"

"As many as I can get" Hackett replied. "If we're lucky, we can catch it on the ground, have the high ground for this fight. If not…"

Anderson understood. He had witnessed Sovereign's attack in person. If this Reaper was anywhere near as powerful… well, they'd at least find out if they even _had_ a fighting chance.

"I assume no luck with the Council?" Hackett asked.

"None so far. They've convinced themselves that this Reaper is geth in origin. They won't take action so long as it's in the Terminus Systems. They want me to keep this quiet."

Hackett considered him for a moment. "Are you?" he asked at length.

"I'm not going to give Emily Wong an exclusive interview, if that's what you're asking" Anderson replied. "But I'm not going to any great lengths to keep it hushed up." He made an expression of distaste. "The rest of the Council will probably make sure it doesn't get out anyway."

"Of course" Hackett replied. "In the meantime, I have a Reaper to kill."

"Good luck and good hunting, Admiral."

***N7***

Technically speaking, Ashley had never been this close to a Reaper before. Of course, she would never forgot those frantic minutes making their way up the side of the Citadel tower, at one point passing directly beneath one of Sovereign's colossal legs. But now, standing barely a few meters from a very similar leg that was planted firmly in Horizon's soil, the machine looked even more massive. Craning her neck upwards, she could barely see the tip of the Reaper's 'spine.'

The whole thing radiated heat, static electricity and something else not quite as easily definable. The air fairly shook with a sense of raw power. She didn't want to touch it, she most _certainly_ didn't want to go inside it.

Unfortunately, that was probably exactly what it wanted. Which begged a question.

"Allright" she bit out, turning to the sphere. "I'm here. What the hell do you want me to do now?"

By way of an answer, the sphere turned and sped off. Before Ashley could even think of yelling after it, her feet suddenly lost contact with the ground. Letting out a startled yelp, she nearly lost her grip on her rifle as the ground sped away.

"What the hell!" came her dismayed yell, her voice nearly drowned out by the suddenly rushing wind. Her HUD's warning of 'Directed Mass Effect Field Detected, Source Undetermined' went unheeded.

For no apparent reason, Ash suddenly remembered the obnoxiously slow elevators the Citadel races were fond of using for transport. This was a _hell_ of a lot faster. Despite that, she swore under her breath that she would never complain about civilized lift tubes _ever_ again.

***N7***

Finding the tractor-beam device (John lifted the name from a 20th century science-fiction franchise he was quite fond of) had been more due to good design on the Reaper's part than a stroke of genius on his, though John only admitted that fact to himself rather grudgingly. In any case, it was a branch of mass effect technology he had only ever read papers on. The fact that the Reaper's possessed the capability to use mass effect fields this way was not really a surprise, but it served to underline just what the rest of the galaxy was up against.

It only occurred to him that _warning_ Ash might have been a good idea after she was half-way up, and his external sensors told him that her heart rate had pretty well doubled. He grimaced – then reminded himself that he couldn't do that anymore. It was not a particularly auspicious way to start this encounter.

In a moment, he had guided Ash through a hatch in 'his' underside, and closed it behind her. He set her down on her feet as gently as he could, and opened an interior hatch to indicate the direction she should go.

_Well, let's get this over with._

***N7***

_Author's Notes: Again, sorry about the wait on this chapter. For anyone who happened to notice, Harbinger apparently forgot to Assume Control at the end of the last chapter. I guess I should consider myself lucky, after all, it's not li – _**ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL.**


	8. N7 Log 8:  Disclosure

Disclosure

***N7***

Ashley watched as the porthole spiraled shut, taking with it what would probably be the last bit of natural light she would ever see. It closed with a metallic sliding sound and a _thud_. Everything went silent. For one panic-ridden moment, it made her think sharply of being sealed in a tomb.

Breathing deeply to calm herself, Ashley looked around. The inside of the Reaper was surprisingly well lit, though she couldn't see any source of light. There were no sharp edges in the walls anywhere, everything was composed of a dark grey metal, molded into smooth, organic shapes.

It looked as though there was no way out. As if in answer to her unasked question, a section of wall to her right opened, showing a new passage. Ashley exhaled heavily. Obviously there was a bit more walking she had to do.

She stepped forward, cautiously peering through the hatch before stepping through. It led out into a larger space that went off in several directions, though she couldn't see very far on account of the passages turning elsewhere.

"All right" she stated to empty air. "I'm here, what do you want with me?"

The Reaper's voice – still hauntingly familiar – came promptly.

"_**Not just yet. I'm going to redirect gravity in a few seconds, lean against the bulkhead to your right."**_

"Now wait a minute-"

"_**Please?"**_

_That_ brought Ashley to a sudden halt. For a moment, she just stood slack-jawed with her mouth hanging open. Abruptly, she shut it, and shook her head in bemused annoyance.

"Okay, fine."

With that, she went up to the indicated bulkhead and pressed her back to it. Immediately, she felt the rather disorienting sensation of instantly going from the vertical to the horizontal position. She scrambled off her back, and looked around. The chamber didn't look that much different from this angle. She rather suspected there was no 'up' or 'down' inside of a Reaper.

_God, what am I doing here?_

"_**Straight ahead, through the corridor that used to be above you."**_

Well, that explained the change in gravity. She sighed.

"If you're going to kill me or brainwash me or whatever the hell it is you're gonna do, just do it. I'm not going to run around for you like a good little lapdog."

"_**I'm not going to do either. Just a little bit further, and I'll explain everything. I promise."**_

Her jaw worked furiously for a few moments, then she sighed again.

"Son of a bitch" she murmured under her breath, and did as the painfully familiar voice asked.

***N7***

Without the timepiece function on her omni-tool, Ashley wouldn't have known how much time she spent wandering the Reaper's interior at it's direction. The corridors all looked similar, grey and curved and – ironically – organic. As it was, her omni-tool was flashing her the numbers 14:21:54, and she figured that she had entered at about fourteen-hundred. Not an unbearably long period of time, but long enough when you were traveling down one directionless corridor after another, following the instructions of an omnicidal AI.

That was until she came to what she could only describe as a blast door. It was big, large enough for a couple of skycars to pass through side-by-side. It looked sturdy enough to stand up to any breach charge she had ever trained with, an impression that was confirmed when it spiraled open, revealing that it was a full meter thick.

Ashley was half-expecting to see more featureless corridors through the slowly opening hatch. Instead, she saw what appeared to be a… control room? Observatory? Whatever it was, it was lit with an icy blue glow emanating from a dozen holographic displays.

Clearly, wherever the Reaper had been taking her, she had arrived.

The blast door opened fully with an ominous _clank_. Mustering her courage, Ashley stepped inside, hands still cradling her rifle comfortingly. She walked to the center of the chamber, then looked back over her shoulder, expecting to see the blast door close. It remained firmly open, almost as though the Reaper was giving her a choice about whether to stay or leave. Maybe it was taunting her.

A flicker out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she looked forwards again to see another hologram taking shape a meter in front of her. Hastily taking a step backwards, she watched as the hologram wavered, shimmered, and solidified into the form of the late John Shepard.

Her breath caught in her throat.

He was as she had known him best, decked in the navy fatigues he wore when on board the Normandy, hair shorn so short he was almost bald. Hell, the hologram captured him in such detail that she could see the stubble that he could never seem to get rid of.

The hologram's hand reached up to rub the back of its neck, exactly the same way John had done when he was nervous.

"Hi."

At the sound of John's voice, two years of sorrow and regret instantly turned into an eternity of wrath.

"How dare you!" she screamed at the Reaper, swinging her rifle backhand at the avatar the machine had assumed. It winced.

"How dare you take _his_ face! How dare you try and desecrate _his_ memory!"

The hologram assumed a rather pained expression, but Ashley didn't see it.

"Look, I-" it was interrupted by a sudden stream of tungsten bullets that passed through its torso and impacted the wall ten meters away. Being a hologram, this did not injure it, but its expression proceeded to become dejected as well as pained.

After a few seconds, the M8 gave a _click_ of protest as the thermal clip reached capacity. Without hesitating, Ashley dumped the heat sink and fired a few more rounds before finally halting. The echoes of the gunfire faded away, leaving only her labored breathing.

"Are you quite finished?" the hologram asked, in a calm voice that nonetheless managed to convey its sadness, and its apprehension of yet another outburst. The snarl on Ashley's face didn't fade, but the rifle dropped a few degrees.

"Yeah, I'm finished. What were you expecting from me, smiles and handshakes? Commander Shepard was the finest man I've ever known, and you take his face thinking you're gonna get a _positive_ reaction?" Her voice shook with barely-suppressed rage.

The hologram made a half-hearted attempt at a grin. "That was the general idea."

Ashley let out a bark of mirthless laughter. "Yeah, that's working out _real_ well for you. Now turn back into a squid, or whatever it is you want to use."

The false grin turned into a full-on grimace. "I can't."

"What do you mean, 'you can't?' Afraid I'm going to run away screaming?"

"I know you better than that."

"No, you don't; you aren't Shepard."

"Actually, I am."

This last statement stopped Ashley cold for a brief moment. The _audacity_…

"You honestly expect me to believe that? YOU'RE A GODDAMN REAPER! A MACHINE!"

"That much is painfully obvious" the hologram said with a hint of dark humor.

Ashley stared at it incredulously. "How did you even manage to kill the Protheans with this level of intelligence?"

"_I_ didn't. If you'll let me explain, I'll tell you everything."

"Like hell-"

"This is going to take a while, isn't it?"

***N7***

It took a full half-hour for John to get the important points across to his old teammate. This was not to say that it was an awful lot of information, but that Ashley was hesitant to absorb it. That was understating the case quite a bit. He wasn't quite sure she believed any of it.

"You expect me to _believe _any of that?"

Nope, she didn't believe it.

_Brilliant idea Shepard, real clever. Now what the hell are you going to do?_

He sighed. "It's all I've got." _I guess it'd be easier if I'd just stayed dead._

"Even _if_ they'd taken the Commander and put him in a Reaper body, would they be dumb enough to just let him go like you're saying."

"It wasn't that easy, but I think they were expecting I would come around to their point of view the instant they stuck me in this thing."

"'The moment they stuck you in this thing,' where are you then? Where's Shepard's body?"

He grimaced again. "It's… not that simple."

"Uh huh."

The silence that followed was excruciating. Ashley glared at him, he was doing his best to hold his ground. Then… was it his imagination, or did the glare soften, just a bit?

"If you are John Shepard" she said, in a tone that was nearly a whisper. "Just before we hit the Mu relay, there was something I said to you, something I wanted you to know; what was it?" Her voice was suspicious, but John could detect just the tiniest bit of desperation too, something only he knew her well enough to hear. He didn't have to think back, those memories were the fondest he possessed.

"That's a trick question" he answered softly. "You told me that if I wanted to hear what you had to say, I'd have to come back to you." He stopped a moment to watch her stunned expression. "You never did tell me."

Ashley stared at him in disbelief. Her eyes flicked over his holographic face, searching for something. After what seemed an eternity, she spoke so quietly his audio receptors could barely pick it up.

"You never really came back."

***N7***

_Author's Notes: Well, there we are. The Shep/Ash substitute Horizon confrontation. I really hope I didn't mess it up too badly. If I did, Harbinger will probably kick my a – _**ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL.**


	9. N7 Log 9: Reservations

Reservations

***N7***

The humans had a short, but rather insightful saying: Knowledge is power. The Shadow Broker had already been comfortably settled in his position for decades before the humans first appeared on the larger galaxy; so he was already very well acquainted with the concept.

The knowledge that an unknown party sought information on the first human Spectre's crew was almost worthless on its own. That it had come through the Collector's channel was substantially more valuable. The knowledge that, a mere handful of hours later, a Reaper appeared on the colony of Horizon and captured the late Shepard's paramour was even more so. It was, however, a cause for concern. If the Reapers were indeed ready to move in the open, he may have less time than he had previously believed to act.

Unfortunate that his source on Horizon would likely not survive the next few minutes. The Reaper would likely destroy the colony once it was finished. He would have to send a team on the off-chance that some useful information, or even Reaper technology would be left behind. It was a slight chance, but he had more than enough money to fund such operations. And in any case, it was not likely that such funds would go to much better use once the Reapers arrived in force.

***N7***

"So let me get this straight…"

Ashley was pacing in agitation in front of the hologram of her old Commander, her voice, if not panicky, certainly not calm.

"The Reapers-"

"Collectors" the Reap - _Shepard_ corrected absently.

"-Collectors, whatever." She took a deep breath. "Found your body, put it in this Reaper shell, let you in control, and then were stupid enough to let you go?"

"Not quite" John said. "This body was more or less constructed around me, and Harbinger kept talking as though-"

"Harbinger?"

"Yeah, big guy, shaped like a squid and talks in a monotone. Anyway, he seemed to think that I'd be coming around to their point of view at any moment, like the idea that I was a Reaper would be enough to make me a xenocidal maniac." He shrugged. "I don't know, maybe every Reaper before me has done just that."

"And they don't have any means of controlling you?"

"I don't think so, or they'd already used it. Harbinger's tried to take control once or twice, but hasn't quite managed."

Ashley fell silent briefly, trying to absorb this. Then: "Where's your body?"

"My body?" John parroted.

"Yeah, your body, you said they built this thing around you."

John grimaced. "Poor choice of words."

That was ominous. "Oh?"

He looked as though he were struggling with his words. "It's… complicated."

"That's the sort of bullshit excuse someone gives when they don't want to explain something" Ashley said, bluntly. The vague hope that John might somehow be restored to his old body fading. Given the way he was reacting, she rather suspected that his body – or what was left of it – was not in any fit state to be used.

Shepard's avatar looked as though it was grinding its teeth. Then he sighed.

"Alright, you want to know where my body is? You're more or less standing in it."

Ashley frowned. "I meant your _human_ body, John."

He winced. "So did I."

She stared. What the hell did he mean by that? His jaw worked for a few moments, then he spoke again.

"After the Collectors – the Reaper's agents – recovered my body, they didn't 'stick it' anywhere. From what I've been able to tell, they reduced my body to its basic building blocks, and used it in the construction of the Reaper core I inhabit." At her horrified expression, he continued. "I'm not sure how it works, or how it is that my consciousness remains in existence, but I AM the Reaper." He apparently saw the look on Ashley's face. "Are you going to run away screaming now?"

Ashley was seriously considering it. But before she could say anything, Shepard's expression suddenly shifted. It became alert, focused. She knew that look, it was the one he always adopted when they were in a combat zone. After a few seconds, he frowned, then spoke.

"Listen, I just detected a small fleet of Alliance warships entering the area. In a few minutes this place is going to be a hot zone. I really don't want to fight our own people, so I've pretty much got to go right now. Are you coming with me?"

She looked at him, stunned. "What the hell do you need me for?"

"I need someone who can speak on my behalf" he replied quickly. "I can't exactly waltz into the Council chambers like this, I need someone who can go where I can't, and talk to people who wouldn't listen to me as I am now." He stared right into her eyes. "Someone I trust."

"Someone to act as your Saren" she stated, comprehending.

"Only, nicer" Shepard said, holding up his holographic hands in a forestalling gesture. "And without all the mind-control bullshit."

"I've got a choice?"

"Yeah, you do" Shepard said somberly. "I'm not going to indoctrinate you, Ash. And I'm not going to take you against your will, either." His eyes were deadly serious. "You say no, and I'll drop you right back on Horizon. I won't think any less of you for it, either."

Several long seconds passed. Then she spoke. "And if I say yes?"

"We leave, right now. We find allies and we tell the whole galaxy what's going on. The Council's been hushing up the whole Reaper crisis, haven't they?"

"Ever since you died" Ashley said.

"Figured as much" he said, looking away and rubbing the back of his holographic head. "They won't trust me, and even if they do, I can't count on their support. But I have to try." He looked back at her. "_We_ have to try, if you're with me."

To say she was torn would be an understatement. On one hand, this was _Shepard_, the man she had fallen in love with, who she would have followed to hell if he had asked her. On the other hand… too many things to count.

She had an impossible choice to make, and entirely too little time to make it in.

Her sense of duty was yelling at her to refuse.

His eyes, eerily real despite being tricks of light and shadow, were silently begging.

_This could very well be a trick. I still don't _know_ it's him._

_Yeah, but you _want_ him to be._

_It doesn't matter what I want._

_Maybe, but what difference is it going to make in the grand scheme of things anyway?_

_Not a whole lot._

She made a decision.

"Allright." She said, in a rather resigned tone. "I'm with you."

Shepard smiled, his eyes carried a number of emotions Ashley could see, and a host she couldn't. But the message was clear enough.

"So," she said, trying to eject some optimism she didn't feel into her voice. "When do we leave?"

"About five seconds ago."

***N7***

The Alliance ships proved easy to evade. They, of course, opened fire the instant they came into range, which was about halfway out of Horizon's atmosphere. Their guns packed a considerably greater punch than the defense cannons had, and given that there were twelve ships all shooting at him at the same time, Shepard was glad that going to FTL was an option.

By the time he cleared the gravity well, shot past the cruiser and frigates into open space and activated his mass effect core, his shields had dropped by roughly forty percent. Granted, most of his energy was being expended by trying to get away from Horizon in the first place, but it was still a substantial amount.

Throughout the whole thing, Ashley sat tight-lipped on a bulkhead, watching the tactical feed John set up using the hologram system. Her body was tense as a bowstring, (which Shepard actually had some practice with) though she seemed somewhat reassured that he hadn't attacked the Alliance ships. In a minute, he had dropped out of FTL, and began his approach run on the system's mass relay. The moment he did so, she spoke.

"So, where are we going?"

He grimaced, or rather, tried to. "I'm not really sure. You know me, I don't really plan that far ahead. Got any ideas?"

She snorted. "You know me, I don't have a plan if you don't."

"Well, guess it's back to winging it."

"Just like old times" she said with a sort of agonized attempt at a grin."

_No, not really._

***N7***

_Author's Notes: Well, I'm back. Sorry about the wait, last month has been hectic, and I'm having some trouble figuring where to take the story from here. Like our friend Shepard, I don't plan that far ahea – _**ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL.**


	10. N7 Log 10: Intermission

_A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, guys. I really appreciate your feedback, particularly since I haven't got a single flame-mail to date! (Uh oh, did I just jinx myself?...) _

_Anyway, I noticed that some of the reviewers for the last chapter were wondering why I 'nerfed' the Reapers, since it seemed like Shepard was taking rather a pounding from the Alliance fleet. My justifications were that A: It was a fleet, that had the literal high ground, that were constantly firing, B: Shepard wasn't trying to fight back, and therefore couldn't thin the opposition, and C: He was trying to get a giant warship that in all probability masses tens of millions of tons out of a planet's gravity well. That takes a _HUGE_ amount of energy, energy he could have put into shields, like what I suspect Sovereign was doing at the Citadel._

_Anyway, hope that answers your questions, and now, on with the story. (Such as it is.)_

Intermission

***N7***

Garrus Vakarian was having a bad day.

The last time he had felt this low was right after the destruction of the Normandy, after hearing that Commander Shepard had been killed in action, and the Council wasn't even going to _try_ to carry on his work. After hearing that they were just going to stuff their fingers in their 'ears' (was that the right word?) and pretend that galactic civilization wasn't going to be wiped out at any moment.

So he left.

He left, and he came to Omega, in the hopes of doing something that could make the slightest difference before they were all annihilated. And that led him here, with a team of men who were either all dead or gone. He himself captured by the Blue Suns, and the side of his face feeling like it was about to fall off.

His hands were bound, and the bastards had forced him on his knees in front of Tarak's gloating face. The batarian looked for all the galaxy like _he_ was the one who had captured the infamous Archangel. Not like Garrus had shot down his gunship _twice_ and decimated half his merc company. The mercs had made damned sure to get rid of his rifle the moment they subdued him.

"So," Tarak crowed. "Not even you can screw with the Blue Suns. You should have known better, Archangel."

At least they hadn't taken his helmet, damaged though it was.

Squinting through the searing pain that consumed the right side of his face, he was pleased to see that the other mercs didn't look nearly so self-assured. They were jumpy, and covering him with a dozen assault rifles, even though he couldn't do much in his state. They should, he thought, since they were all that was left of the three merc gangs and numerous hired guns they had sent to take him down. He was able to completely obliterate Eclipse and the Blood pack. He was content with managing that.

"Now, all of Omega will see that you don't mess with us and live to tell about it. We're going to send this vid to everyone for ten light-years in every direction. You'll get your ten minutes of fame, at least." Tarak was grinning infuriatingly. "Before I kill you, anyway." Couldn't he just hurry up and get it over with?

Tarak droned on and on, but Garrus wasn't paying attention. He focused on the other mercs, a mix of turians, humans, salarians, batarians, and one Asari. She drew his eye because though her armor was colored white and blue, it wasn't the Blue Sun's uniform. She alone didn't seem wary of him. A freelancer, then. Guess he hadn't managed to get rid of _all _of them. Tarak's words suddenly drew Garrus's attention.

"Showtime, Archangel" he said with a smirk, two mercs coming up to flank him, the asari falling into step behind. Garrus tensed. "Cathka, take off his helmet. I want to see his face." The shorter batarian reluctantly stepped forward.

Well, he guessed it was too much to hope that they would let him die with some dignity.

But at that moment, the asari moved. Raising both her hands – revealing two Carnifex hand-cannons – she fired. Cathka and the other merc toppled forwards.

"What the-" Tarak had just enough time to get out before he was enveloped in a biotic warp and he crumpled. The other mercs started, then raised their weapons to fire on the glowing asari, but too late. With a gesture that was startlingly familiar, she threw a biotic singularity at the cluster of mercs, then sent Tarak flying after it. The two fields collided, then detonated. The resulting explosion sent bodies flying in every direction like rag dolls. The entire exchange had lasted just four seconds.

The asari rushed behind Garrus as he staggered to his feet, and cut his bonds with her omni-tool. "This way, quickly" she said to him, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him.

"Dr T'soni?" he asked incredulously.

"We don't have much time" Liara said. "I've knocked them out, but they'll be up at any moment. Quickly!" With that, she led him away onto Omega's darkened streets.

***N7***

"You wanted to see me?"

Miranda spoke to the man sitting in the chair four steps in front of her. He was turned away, facing the dying star that illuminated his chamber. A view calculated to impress, no matter the species. She approved. She understood the value of appearances and illusions, after all.

"Yes," he said simply. His tone conveyed no surprise. He had probably been watching her movements before she ever entered the room. "How goes the project?" She quirked her eyebrow. The Illusive Man summoning her here for a simple status report? Something else was going on. Nevertheless, she replied as requested.

"The technicians are running final checks on the vessel as we speak. They think it will be ready to fly within a few hours."

"Did Mr. Moreau wish to name it the Normandy?"

Mildly perturbed by the interruption, Miranda spoke again. "No, I have studied his psyche profile. I do not believe he would wish it called that unless his previous captain was in command."

The Illusive Man did not reply, taking a drag from the cigarette he was holding. Taking it as a cue, Miranda continued. "The vessel may be in top condition, but I have concerns about the crew. I don't think they're ready for this mission."

"I assume you have an plan to remedy the situation?"

"Several."

For several seconds, he did not reply. What was going through his mind, Miranda did not have the faintest idea. Then his chair spun to face her, and she met his eyes, implants glowing with a faint blue light.

"As it so happens, the mission is on hold until further notice."

Miranda could not conceal her surprise at this pronouncement. Before she could ask anything, the Illusive Man hit a control on his holographic terminal, and a video sprang to life between them.

It showed an active mass relay, recognizable by its red aura as the Omega-4 relay. For long seconds, nothing happened. Miranda's eyes flicked to the man in the chair, and he lifted a hand slightly in a forestalling motion. Then a Reaper appeared out of the Mass Relay. Miranda inhaled sharply.

"How long ago was this?"

"Not long" he replied. "We knew that the Collectors were working with the Reapers, but this is a surprising move on their part." He paused to take another drag. "Since this Reaper revealed itself, there have been no real attacks. The Reapers as a whole have made no attempt to assault any target that we know of. And this Reaper has done nothing but land on the colony of Horizon."

"Land?" Miranda asked in a questioning tone.

"It seems that this Reaper landed next to the colony, took the brunt of its defenses, captured one of Commander Shepard's old crew members, and then left. Without causing significant damage or engaging the Alliance fleet that arrived shortly thereafter." He paused, staring hard into Miranda's face as he pulled on his cigarette again.

"Do we have any idea why they would go to such risks for such a small gain?" Miranda asked.

"Your guess is as good as mine" he replied. "But it has to have something to do with Shepard. He was responsible for Sovereign's destruction, and they devoted a substantial amount of resources to kill him for it. But it's been two years. Why now?"

"Am I to find out why?" Miranda asked.

"Yes. We may still have time before the Reapers invade. In order to risk exposure this way, whatever this Reaper is doing must be incredibly important. Find out what it is, keep them from accomplishing it, and we may yet stand a chance."

_No pressure_ Miranda thought to herself sarcastically, though her face betrayed nothing.

"Understood. I'll have the Normandy launched as soon as I get back."

"Normandy?"

"It does seem appropriate, despite Mr. Moreau's objections."

"Indeed. You have a job to do, Miranda. I suggest you get to it."

***N7***

_Author's Notes: Real Life is about to rear its ugly head again. I probably won't be able to write more of this for another week. Darn it. Well, we can't have everyt – _**ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL.**


	11. N7 Log 11: Preparation

_A/N: My deepest apologies for not updating this sooner. I honestly have no excuse, beyond the usual._

Preparation

***N7***

"You can't sweep this under the carpet, Councilor!"

The words could have been intended for any one of the three Councilors – himself not included – in the room, but Anderson meant them specifically for Valern, the Councilor from the Turian Hierarchy. The said turian just snorted – what served his race for a snort anyway.

"Sweep what up, Anderson? All you have are the reported movements of a geth dreadnaught operating outside the veil. A security concern, certainly, but nothing that would need to be hidden."

"You know as well as I do that that's not true" Anderson argued angrily. "It was a Reaper, just like Sovereign. It took fire from an entire battle group on its way out of a planetary gravity well, didn't even bother fighting back, and didn't have a scratch to show for it."

"The geth are capable of remarkable technological feats, Sovereign and this new warship are proof of that" the asari councilor, Tevos, said in a reasonable tone. "However, as _you_ well know, there is no proof that the Reapers are, or ever were, anything but a fantasy."

"You know what evidence has been presented" Anderson said stiffly. "If Saren and Sovereign _invading_ this Citadel and attempting to activate a _mass relay_ haven't at least made you consider the possibility-"

"We _have_ considered it, Anderson" Valern said scornfully. "And after due consideration, we have dismissed it."

"'Due consideration' being the time it took to discredit the man who saved all your lives" Anderson said, angry again.

"We appreciate the sacrifices Commander Shepard and the Alliance made on our behalf" the salarian counselor said. "Our own intelligence however, has never confirmed the existence of Shepard's 'Reapers.' Should we take the word of single man in a matter this important, even a Spectre?"

"If it's the right man, then yes" Anderson retorted. "Had _Saren_ given you that report, wouldn't you have believed him?"

It was obvious that the discussion was going nowhere, and after a few more minutes argument, it was over. Shortly thereafter, he was sitting in his office again, going over reports he was sure Udina would be better suited to review. Unfortunately, the ambassador was 'otherwise engaged.'

His console beeped.

Annoyed, he checked the alert, then double checked it. His annoyance vanished at once. The communications request was from one of his operatives in the field, specifically, Operations Chief Ashley Williams. His attempts to contact her while the Reaper was on Horizon had gotten no response. Nor had she reported in before that very moment. Quickly, he approved the request. After several seconds, Williams' face appeared on his console, he couldn't see anything in the background.

"Operations Chief" he greeted her. "It's good to see you alive, we'd heard that Horizon was visited by a Reaper."

She winced. "It was, Sir." She hesitated. "Sir, something else happened. You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Told me what?"

Never before had Anderson seen the marine, usually confident and straightforward, looking so hesitant. It put him on guard.

"Sir," that hesitation again. "Sir, I'm not on Horizon."

Sudden suspicion crept into his mind. "Operations Chief, _where are you?_"

The order left no room for interpretation, and Williams answered automatically. "I'm on board the Reaper, Sir."

***N7***

_Well, she could have phrased that better._

_Right, Shepard. How exactly _do_ you phrase something like that better? _

John watched Ashley trying to explain her situation to the Capt-_Councilor_, but he wasn't really listening. He knew how it had to go, Anderson couldn't afford to trust her, not when he knew about indoctrination. But she had to try, anyway. Instead, he watched Ash, studying her features, committing them to memory.

She had changed since the last time he saw her, almost imperceptibly, but the changes were there. Even though two years wasn't a whole lot of time for a body to age, she still appeared older. Was it her bearing, her tone of voice? Hell, any change he attributed to her was probably because _he_ had been altered drastically. Probably because she was in an unimaginably stressful position.

Ash tried to keep a calm, confident note in her voice, but the strain was showing clear through. Anderson may want to believe her, but could never afford to. Still, it was probably better to get it out in the open. Well, some of it.

***N7***

"Operations Chief, do you honestly want me to believe that this Reaper is really on our side?" Anderson demanded. Ashley winced at his tone.

"I – I don't know, Sir. I know I _could_ be indoctrinated, but I've seen the way he's acted, and how he's spoken to me. I think he's genuine."

"He?" Anderson asked sharply. "Machines don't have genders, Williams."

"Sir, that's how he's presented himself to me. It seems as though a Reaper's central processing unit is actually the consciousness of an organic being, incorporated into the Reaper shell itself." She left out that she knew exactly who that consciousness was.

Anderson frowned. "You mean that Reapers were once living beings?"

"Something like that, Sir. That's why this Reaper opposes the others. Sir, did it attack any of the warships sent to Horizon?" Anderson didn't answer, but his expression conveyed the whole story. "The Reaper took fire from the Horizon defenses, and from the Alliance reinforcements, but didn't return fire. And… it's said some things that make me think it's telling the truth."

"Anything you say is suspect, Williams" Anderson said. "You have to know that."

"I know, Sir" Ashley said. "I and know I can't ask you to just let the Reaper wander around freely. But I believe he'll prove himself, eventually."

Anderson regarded her through the display with a frown. Eventually, he spoke. "I hope for your sake that you're right, Operations Chief. Is there anything else?"

There was a lot more 'else,' but nothing Ashley could put into words, and nothing that Anderson could afford to believe. So she shook her head. "No sir."

Anderson seemed to be considering her carefully. Then he nodded. "Good luck, Williams. I hope to see you again soon" the subtle emphasis he put on 'you' made it clear that he didn't hope to see a Reaper speaking through her. And with that, he closed the connection.

Realizing that she had been leaning forward the whole time, Ashley stood back at attention, and turned to Shepard. He was regarding her with an inscrutable look on his face. "Well?" she demanded. "What now?"

"Still trying to figure that out" he said, looking away, his face a study in concentration. "I've got a lot of info stored in my data core, but I'm still trying to figure out how to access all of it. Not even sure what's in there."

Ashley scowled, annoyed. "And how does that help us?"

"It doesn't. But when I do figure it out, hopefully I can find something we can use to stop the Reapers."

"And in the meantime?"

"We're going to go shopping."

Ashley blinked, not sure she had heard him correctly. "I don't suppose you're speaking metaphorically?"

"Not in the least. Well, maybe a little."

***N7***

Haestrom sucked.

That, at least, was what Shepard would have said about the place. Tali was unaware what, exactly, it was supposed to be 'sucking' though. Perhaps that was the point.

It wasn't just the deleterious radiation Haestrom's sun emitted, though that was a major factor. Nor was it the fact that the ghosts of every quarian who had ever lived in the place seemed to be hounding her, personally. It was the geth.

Geth in every variety, geth in every conceivable size, geth with a diverse – and lethal – assortment of weapons. Most importantly, geth in great numbers. They had already killed half her team, and the extermination of the rest of the quarian presence on Haestrom seemed bleakly certain.

Cursing softly under her breath, she tapped commands into her omni-tool as quickly as her fingers would allow. A stream of geth pulse rounds flashed through the open door and slammed into the stone wall behind her. The two marines still with her, Myr'Jorin and Tir'Hatal, fired back. She heard a wet impact, and one of the two yelped.

"Bosh'tets" she hissed, and sent one final command. The door slammed shut.

"Ma'am!" shouted Tir'Hatal. With the immediate threat delayed, the marine had bolted out of cover to tend to his downed comrade. Tali rushed to his side. Myr was lying on his back, blood coating his side. Biting back another curse, Tali helped administer first aid. It wouldn't be enough, she knew. Without better equipment – such as would be found on their ship – Myr'Jorin was doomed.

Tali let out a near-silent sob. It wouldn't matter anyway, the geth would kill them first.

"I'll tend to him, Ma'am" Tir said. Through their visors, they locked eyes. Wordless understanding passed, and Tali rose, shotgun ready. There was one other exit to the room they were entrenched in, leading back to the observatory. That area would shortly be crawling with geth, if it wasn't already. Still, the observatory was reinforced, and would make a better defensive location. A better spot to make a final stand.

_It wouldn't be final if Shepard was here._

She shoved the thought aside. Shepard wasn't here, hadn't been for the last two years. She wouldn't be getting any more help from him. She would have to do this herself.

She turned to Tir. "Can we move him?"

"If we have to," he replied over Myr's low moans. "Where are we going?"

She made up her mind. "The observatory, we'll stand a better chance there." She clicked on her radio. "Kal? Kal'Reegar, can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear, Ma'am. We're holed up near the storehouse, geth are everywhere." He was calm and professional, even as she heard explosions and rifle shots ringing in the background.

"I'm here with Tir'Hatal and Myr'Jorin. Myr is wounded, but we're going to try to make a break for the observatory."

"Roger that, Ma'am. We'll try to meet you there." She heard him yell an order to one of his men. For a few more moments, she heard a flurry of fire, a few more explosions and yells. Then silence.

"Kal?"

"Still here Ma'am, the geth are pulling back."

***N7***

'Pulling back,' as it turned out, meant pulling out, seemingly entirely. All the mobile geth platforms evacuated combat areas, boarded their ship, and left without explanation. Fearing a trap, but realizing that they had very little choice, the seven surviving members of Tali's team made a break for their ship. It was still intact. Getting Myr ensconced in a bunk, hooked up to the best medical equipment the flotilla had to offer, they took off as soon as they were able.

Tali watched Haestrom grow steadily smaller, then turned to Kal. "Why did they let us go?"

"I don't know, Ma'am. Maybe some higher priority mission came up, and they had to leave in a hurry."

"Without bothering to finish us first? I don't get it."

"Neither do I, Ma'am. I'm just glad we're alive."

So was she. But one corner of her mind asked her what kind of priority the geth had that would entice them to down an opportunity to butcher more of her people. She had a feeling she wouldn't like it, if she ever found out.

***N7***

_Author's Notes:_

_Last chapter, I said that I wouldn't have a chance to write more for another week. This was a very long week._

_I have a really long list of excuses for why I didn't write more, but the bottom line is that I have a short attention span, and a great number of distractions (Skyrim.) The only reason why I haven't abandoned this project entirely is that I don't like it when fics I read get dumped. And I don't like being a hypocrite._

_Also, I'm writing this late at night. Please direct any flame mails to the sun, who is discourteous enough to only light up the planet half the time. Or to the comment box, whichever is easi – _**ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL.**


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